


The Longest Journey Chapter 1

by damigella



Category: House, M.D. - Fandom
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-23
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damigella/pseuds/damigella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>A/N</b>: The title is nicked from EM Forster's novel. I'm not a doctor and the medicine is approximate at best.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N** : The title is nicked from EM Forster's novel. I'm not a doctor and the medicine is approximate at best.

  
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**A/N** : The title is nicked from EM Forster's novel. I'm not a doctor and the medicine is approximate at best.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. Sad.

* * *

"You paged me for a consult."

Only the top of the head appeared between the cupped hands holding the forehead, the elbows firmly planted on the desk.

He briefly checked the x-ray scan and the blood tests results.

"Are you joking? You don't need a consult. This is the easiest diagnosis ever. Pancreatic cancer, apparently stage 3. What did you call me for?"

"I was a bit worried about how to phrase the prognosis."

"I know as much as you do. Likely one year, two years barely possible, less than six months if everything goes downhill fast."

"Chances of remission?"

"None. And zero survival at five years. You should have experience in communicating worse news than this. Is this someone you care about?... Now that I look better, why does the x-ray come from Trenton Hospital?"

"Because I couldn't get it under a false name at PPTH, since all the radiologists here know me. About your previous question: indeed, I find it hard to give bad news to people I care about. Nevertheless, as you can see, I manage."

Finally the head was lifted, and the dark eyes fixed the blue ones without blinking.

"I need you, House."

* * *

Cuddy could hear House get into her office without knocking. When he said "Wilson and I are leaving now. We'll be away the whole weekend. See you Monday", she immediately replied "You're insane. Stay here and do some of your clinic..." She lifted her eyes and the breath caught in her throat. House's face was covered with tears.

* * *

They were sitting on Wilson's couch, the tv was showing a TiVo'ed Monster Truck show, and they were drinking scotch in the middle of Thai takeout debris.

"So what did you do in the eight hours between getting the results and calling me?"

"I collected information about oncologists specializing in pancreatic cancer. I will want your opinion but I'm considering Dr Gupta at Sloan Kettering." A whisky sip. "Plus I went to talk to my lawyer. I checked my will, my health and life insurance, and made sure you were registered as my medical proxy and next-of-kin."

"What are the plans for the weekend?"

"That was what I hoped you would help me with. I think the healthcare can wait until Monday."

"Ok, I'll deal with the arrangements. I think tomorrow night we'll be in New York. Do you prefer French or Italian food?"

"You choose. Are you sure you can do this? I though you had a dinner date with Cuddy."

"It was actually a dinner, movie and goodnight fuck date. I canceled it."

As much silence as could be allowed for by the crashing havoc of the monster trucks lasted for maybe ten minutes.

"Thank you. Will you stay the night?"

"I don't plan to be away from you anytime this weekend. Also, tomorrow morning you're making pancakes."

* * *

Reviews welcome, even negative ones.


	2. The Longest Journey Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The title is nicked from EM Forster's novel. I'm not a doctor and the medicine is approximate at best.

  
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A/N: The title is nicked from EM Forster's novel. I'm not a doctor and the medicine is approximate at best.

"Here are the reports from Sloan-Kettering, Chicago, and Montreal. They all agree that I should be able to continue working almost normally for many months."

"They also politely suggest it might be a good idea to start searching for a replacement oncology head. All of them."

"Sure. Actually, I don't want to take any new cases from now on. I'll coordinate oncology until you find a replacement, slowly move my long-term patients to another provider, and I expect to take full medical leave and, if all is well, start a consultancy agreement in six months' time."

Cuddy went once more through her annotations on the sides of the pages of the thick folder.

"I think your proposal is fine. I will have to see what the hospital board says, but I have no doubt it will be accepted."

"Thank you. I'm sure we can arrange this so as to disrupt only minimally the hospital's working conditions."

"Wilson... it feels stupid that our main concern here seems to be PPTH's oncology department. How about you? Is there anything I can do?"

"You know the medical situation as well as me." (she nodded) "There's not so much anybody can do, unfortunately. But you could cut House's clinic hours. He's taking it well so far but I'm afraid of a crash if my health, no, _when_ my health takes a turn for the worse. He needs to reduce other sources of stress."

"I see. I'm not sure I can push this through at the board, but I might be able to find some stopgap solution for a while."

"Thank you."

After her head oncologist took leave, Cuddy didn't start working immediately. She remained sitting at her desk, deep in thought, her eyes unfocussed, while the winter sunset hurried on outside and shadows engulfed her office.

* * *

A magnum of Moët Chandon stands tall among two flutes and the shells of two dozens oysters.

"That was a busy week. Who knew a slow death could be so stressful?"

"At least we've now planned for your first rounds of visits, surgery and chemotherapy without disrupting too much your life or those of your patients."

"Wonder how I'll tell them. Maybe I won't. Maybe I could use it - as in, don't worry, you'll live longer than me. Speaking of which, where were you today after lunch? Did you visit your patient?"

"No, my lawyer. He looked up the paperwork you prepared, said it's fine but he suggests we go to Massachusetts and get legally married. It gives us a much stronger position, especially since both New York and New Jersey will recognize the marriage."

"Is this a proposal?"

"I thought that as a cripple I'm excused the going on my knees routine."

"I'm not sure I want you to become the fourth Mrs Wilson."

"Don't worry, I'm keeping my own name. But I do feel like exchanging rings. That and engraving a tasteful tattoo of my name on your lower back. One can never be too careful with a philanderer like you."

"What does Cuddy have to say about this? It seems weird."

"I told her about this yesterday evening after I broke up with her. I plan on concentrating on you for the time remaining. If she still wants me she can wait until you're gone. Maybe you can drive with me there tomorrow: she agreed to leave the house empty for a few hours so that I can get out my stuff. By the way, no pressure but if you like the idea I'm ready to move back in with you at any time."

The quiet corner of the expensive restaurant where they're dining seems to become even quieter. For a handful of minutes all each of them can hear is the soft rustling of the flames in the fireplace and the beatings of their own heart.

"I would love you to move back in with me again, but... there's something you should know. Something I should have mentioned months ago, except it took me very long to realize it and when I did it scared me."

The tall glass gets filled, than immediately emptied.

"I find you attractive, both romantically and sexually. I dare say you may have noticed. Don't worry. I'm happy if our friendship continues unchanged, but if anytime you want emotional intimacy or a massage with happy ending or both just let me know. Having you in the loft with me might lead me to unchaste thoughts, and I would understand if this would make you uncomfortable."

The unreasonably long pause stretches Wilson's nerves. House turns towards the window, watching the snow slowly falling. He seems to look very far away in the darkness, as if looking for answers there.

"I did suspect for a while. I am not uncomfortable but I might need to ask questions - I don't want to risk hurting you."

"I have no secrets from you. Not anymore."


	3. The Longest Journey Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hi Cuddy."

  
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"Hi Cuddy."

"Hi Wilson. How are things going?"

"Fine, thanks. How's the selection of the new oncology head coming on?"

"We got about two dozen applicants, a handful of which are good. Are you still willing to be part of the selection committee?"

"Sure. Although I can't really say I'm looking forward to reading through a hundred recommendation letters."

"Anything else I can do for you?"

"There's something you should know. House and I have now finished the paperwork, so our married status will be filed next week at PPTH. I... we thought we should call ahead and warn you, not let you hear it via office gossip."

Even over the phone, Wilson could hear her sharp breath intake.

"That's really considerate. I appreciate. Now if this is all I'll have to stop chatting, I'm waiting for a call - maintenance contract is up for renewal soon."

"Don't overwork yourself! Bye-bye."

Wilson put down the receiver, and House looked at him with a worried expression.

"How did it go?"

"I obviously hurt her, but I think this was the best way." House didn't thank him, but gently brushed his shoulder with his fingertips. "Still, I'm glad you talked me into doing it on the phone. I couldn't have looked into her eyes."

* * *

"I love pizza night. What crappy tv show do you want to see now?"

"House, we need to talk."

"What? You found out I'm cheating on you with the new cafeteria employee, the bosomy redhead?"

Wilson couldn't help smiling. It was great to have his relationship with House almost back to the pre-cancer days.

"Unfortunately I need to talk about something serious. But I hope it's only for a short time... General Hospital starts in 35 minutes."

"Is it something to do with your chemo? Side effects I should know about?"

"No, that's good. In fact, if I wasn't an oncologist I wouldn't even consider taking early retirement. I feel wonderful these days." He moved nearer to House, and got hold of his right hand among his. House looked at this in a somewhat puzzled way, than at his friend's eyes, and noticed they were fixed on their hands as well.

"I want to talk about death. My death, and the timing thereof."

"We can't tell now how fast it will come. It might be years."

"I know, and that's not what I mean. I don't know the when, but I can make an educated guess about the how. Months, possibly years of tolerable life quality, followed by a few weeks of hell, ending in a morphine fog - when all the attending physician can do is hope that the fog doesn't hide the pain only to the outside world. I've seen too many patients desperately wanting release, and their families begging them to hang on a few weeks, or days, longer. I don't want that."

"So what is it you want?"

"My dream would be to go when I'm ready. I know precisely what to expect, and I would like to bow out before it gets too bad, while I can still close my eyes a last time on a day with pleasure in it. There are two problems with this, though."

House felt his hand getting crushed, and his leg was twitching because he didn't dare move it. He barely breathed, in fact. He waited.

"First of all, there's the law. Usually you can't help someone go. I wish you could find a way to help me, but of course not at the cost of your medical licence. If you're unlucky you might even end in jail. I'd rather take a lot of pain than risk being the cause of you losing your job."

"You did risk your job for me in the past!"

"Yes, but it's not worth it for just a short time. You have decades to live post-Wilson, and I hope they'll be filled with happiness, and this can't happen without your job."

"What's the other problem?"

"As I said, usually family and friends of the sick insist that they hang on. It's like a torture, but they can't let go. In my case, the only person caring about me is you. Will you be willing to let me go when I feel it's time, even if it means missing a few days or weeks?"

Wilson was now looking straight into House's eyes. He was also crying quietly. But the tears dried up fast when House, surprisingly, smiled.

"Don't worry. I'll find a way to bend the law and open the door for you whenever you ask. And I will consider myself fortunate for the time we have shared, instead of grieving for what might have been."

He now felt like moving, and started massaging his thigh.

"However, as we're talking about this and General Hospital is still ten minutes away, is there anything I should know about preparation for after the death? Like, a rabbi I should get in touch with? He may have his own opinions on this business."

"House, I've been religious in my own crappy way for most of my life. I've finally accepted that, just like marriage and children, this is not something I did for myself. I was still trying to be the good boy in my mother's dreams. No, I don't think there's anything or anybody waiting for me. But it's good you reminded me, so that I can leave something written and my family can't give you hell about the funeral. And now I think it is really time for General Hospital."

They kept holding hands until they left the sofa for their bedrooms, more than a hour later.


	4. The Longest Journey Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had been a great party. That is, if you could forget that the guy going into retirement was in his early forties and would never see his fiftieth birthday. But otherwise everything had been perfect: Cuddy had delivered a moving speech, the cancer children had organized a choir, and House had managed to dance once with his husband. The warm spring evening's sky was dotted with stars, and the future seemed unreasonably promising.

  
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It had been a great party. That is, if you could forget that the guy going into retirement was in his early forties and would never see his fiftieth birthday. But otherwise everything had been perfect: Cuddy had delivered a moving speech, the cancer children had organized a choir, and House had managed to dance once with his husband. The warm spring evening's sky was dotted with stars, and the future seemed unreasonably promising.

The next morning Wilson was brooding over breakfast that he would never regularly work again, and he found it hard to accept this further step towards death. He put the dirty dishes in the sink, smiling when he noticed there weren't any pancakes left, and went back to sit near House on the couch.

"What are we up to today? Have you planned anything special?"

"I thought you would never ask! Of course I have. Cuddy's present to you is that I'm home the whole week. And here's my own present."

Wilson slowly opened the parcel, which obviously contained books. He turned very pink once he realized his present was a copy each of "The Joy of Gay Sex" and "Anal Pleasure and Health".

"What's this supposed to mean, House?"

"Do you love me, Wilson?"

The unexpected question silenced him. He tried to figure out what he should say, while House's eyes stared directly in his own.

"You said you found me romantically and sexually attractive. Is this still true? And can one summarize by saying you love me?"

So phrased the question became easier.

"Yes, I love you and have done so for several years now - not all of them consciously."

"I knew, just wanted to tease you" said House, smiling. "Now lie down comfortably in my arms and your uncle Greg will tell you a story."

"There was once a young and horny med student, with no time to seduce a woman and no money to pay one. His roommate told him that in a gay bar he could not only have free sex whenever he wanted, but even gain some money.

"The young student decided to give it a try. He discovered a fascinating world of free blow-jobs, and although he never accepted payment, he even received some very expensive presents from financially solid bedfellows. He realized he was more or less perfectly bisexual; however, once he became an MD, he decided to date only women, since it was more socially acceptable and equally pleasant.

"He still occasionally sneaked out to a gay bar, and celebrated turning 40 with a memorable three-way - involving two twenty year old boys he had just met. Then he became a cripple and his sex life more or less collapsed, reduced mostly to prostitutes.

"And finally he got married to a gorgeous male young doctor, but he didn't dare tell his husband that he wanted their relationship to be more than platonic..."

"House! You never told me you had homosexual experiences!"

"I guess the topic never came up - it hardly ever does in two straight gentlemen's conversation. So what do you say? Does my tale have a happy ending?"

"Let's find out", said Wilson, looking tense rather than happy.

It was a busy week in the end.

* * *

A/N: I might make a separate story to go in here. Something rated M.

* * *

In October Wilson had his first recurrence, but chemotherapy worked, and by Christmas he was again officially in remission. Still, it had been an unwelcome reminder for the two of them that their time was not unlimited.

"I've been thinking, House"

"Be careful! You might hurt your brain, or even worse, disrupt your hairdo!"

Wilson smiled at House's teasing and went on "I think I want a religious wedding ceremony with you. You know, a big event with the Huppah and the breaking of the glasses and the marriage contract handwritten in Hebrew on parchment."

"Why would you want that?"

"It would be a dream come true. Also, it's nice to think of a marriage without a divorce at the end. Something to rub in to everybody's face that we didn't marry just to solve a legal problem. It's the kind of wedding my eldest brother got, and he's an asshole."

House kindly refrained from pointing out the many non sequiturs, and preferred to concentrate on the technical side, such as the question whether a rabbi would be willing to celebrate a gay union including a non-jew. House wasn't even sure which half of the problem was worse.

However, he loved Wilson very much and gave him carte blanche to arrange things to his heart's content. So when on a crisp, icy Sunday in February he found himself standing near Wilson under a canopy, a Kippah on each of their heads, he didn't feel too awkward. He managed to chant his part respectably and go through the ceremony without crying once. Unfortunately the same did not apply to Wilson himself; the gentle tears running on his face were however hardly noticeable as compared to the bowling of his own mother and, surprisingly, of Cuddy, who was now dating Lucas again but cried so hard that some suspicious glances were exchanged by colleagues in the know.

They had a week of honeymoon in Hawai. Swimming was a sport House enjoyed, since it didn't put any weight on his sick leg, and a welcome side effect of Wilson's love was his indefference to the effect seeing his scar could have on others (which made it easier to dress in swim-appropriate ways). Wilson was healthy, happy and very romantical, and they still managed to collaborate together to produce a twenty-page paper.

They went back to a consulting and lecturing contract for Wilson, and a special prize of New Jersey for House implying no clinic duty for one year; both blatant instances of the fact that not only Cuddy had forgiven them, but she was going out of her way to give them support.


	5. The Longest Journey Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> House is celebrating Rosh Hashana with his husband and his in-laws. Neither of the two believes in any deity, but he does appreciate Wilson's involvement with Jewish culture, and in particular likes the idea of devoting a week to reconsidering the year just finished. Decidedly a good year. A very good one, even.

  
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House is celebrating Rosh Hashana with his husband and his in-laws. Neither of the two believes in any deity, but he does appreciate Wilson's involvement with Jewish culture, and in particular likes the idea of devoting a week to reconsidering the year just finished. Decidedly a good year. A very good one, even.

His relationship with Wilson has become deeper with the added sexual dimension. They were both worried about it: House had never had a longterm gay relationship and very few straight ones, and Wilson had no previous same-sex experience and had fucked up three marriages. It turned out surprisingly well, and indeed their physical connection has become the most rewarding in each of their lives. As a result James has never felt tempted to cheat (and not for lack of chances) and House keeps paying verbal homage to Cuddy's graces only out of common politeness. They hired a couple of times House's favorite "masseuse" to teach Wilson how to do her job; he has now become almost as good at it as she used to be.

House's relationship with the colleagues in PPTH has also improved: he hasn't changed much (although being very happy does improve his mood) but everybody knows of their doomed love and is therefore willing to cut him some slack. Wilson has so far reacted optimally to every therapy; he misses patient contact, but he realizes that this way he has more time and energy to devote to House. He has even become almost famous among the readers of "The dying oncologist", his blog dedicated to pain management and end-of-life issues in cancer patients.

* * *

"The cancer is not responding." How many times has he spoken these words in his career? And now he's hearing them, holding his husband's hand, in a New York full of snow and of lights to celebrate the coming Christmas. "There's an experimental protocol" continues Dr Gupta; "it seems to gain some extra months, but it is demanding on the body and significantly lowers life quality for the four weeks in which it is delivered". Dr Gupta goes on to describe other possible protocols, gives them references to all the necessary literature, and a week to think about their options.

House has taken a month off, and they're renting an expensive flat in New York so as to be comfortable and near to the hospital. They also hired a nurse, because the more physically demanding parts of Wilson's care cannot be done by a cripple. Still, it is House that is at his side when (four times a week) Wilson spends the day and the night vomiting, He cooks light and delicious food, which he slowly coaxes Wilson into eating, and buys him not-quite-legal supplies of inhalable THC to boost his appetite (they usually end up sharing). When he started losing hair Wilson shaved his head; his face is puffy and almost unrecognizable. But the treatment (torture is how House calls it when Wilson can't hear) is working, the cancer vanished again and they mark every passing day on the calendar until the end of this difficult time. The hardest part in these weeks is neither Wilson's physical pain nor House's exhaustion, but rather the knowledge that this is but a preview of what will happen once no more remission can be obtained... and in that case, there will be no way to know how many days are left, nor any happiness beyond pain cessation to look forward to. They never talk about it.

* * *

Once in remission they do not quite go back to their previous lives. Wilson's hair has grown back, but it is thin and gray; he has regained only part of the lost weight, and his (until recentfly youthful) face has now almost as many age lines as his husband's. He feels weaker than before, and some days needs a wheelchair; he has also problems concentrating: the blog gets updated twice a month at most, and there are no more consultancies. Still, there's comfort in the arrival of spring: the lack of ice and snow helps House to walk around safely, and the mild weather is less demanding on Wilson's weakened immune system.

House has obtained permission to work from home when needed, and does spend less hours than before in the hospital. Foreman has been promoted to vice-head of diagnostics, which means he's in charge whenever House is unavailable. A less hectic schedule has improved House's pain management problems, especially since he regularly attends physiotherapy. In fact, it is evident to everyone that knows them that House has been taking much more care of himself since Wilson's diagnosis. He knows he needs to stay healthy. Of course nobody dares mention this in his presence.

After careful discussions with Wilson, House has worked out a plan for the time when he will be in leave of absence to provide for his husband's final hospice care. He has contacted a provider of outpatient nursing services, so that they can stay at home until the end, and Cuddy, Thirteen, Foreman, Taub, Cameron and Chase have all agreed to take regular turns visiting to provide practical support and allow House some respite.

Finally they all meet one evening at their condo: their friends finalize the schedule and get a copy of the keys, together with Wilson's list of where to find important items such as clean bedclothes, emergency medical supplies, legal documents, and of course THREE copies of the list itself taped inside the door of different pieces of furniture. After dinner Wilson gets tired and retires, but House and the others go on to a private room in a nearby karaoke bar and spend there a couple of hours, singing and laughing and reminiscing. When House leaves the others stay on, remembering old jokes and happier times. At some point the name of Cutthroat Bitch comes up, and soon they're all crying: about Amber, about Wilson, about House, about everything which could have gone better and didn't.

* * *

A/N I love reviews. Even really negative ones. I also rewrote my profile, in case you read profiles.


	6. The Longest Journey Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The news Dr Gupta had to give was the worst possible. The only marginally good side was that the patient was an oncologist and his spouse a diagnostician: he wouldn't need to say much. This would be most likely their last meeting - and the patient's last day outside New Jersey. He was always upset by conversations like the coming one, and since he was an oncologist specialized in pancreatic cancer, they happened depressively often. He sighed briefly, reviewing his notes once again. His secretary's voice buzzed over the intercom: "James Wilson and spouse, 10am appointment, coming."

  
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The news Dr Gupta had to give was the worst possible. The only marginally good side was that the patient was an oncologist and his spouse a diagnostician: he wouldn't need to say much. This would be most likely their last meeting - and the patient's last day outside New Jersey. He was always upset by conversations like the coming one, and since he was an oncologist specialized in pancreatic cancer, they happened depressively often. He sighed briefly, reviewing his notes once again. His secretary's voice buzzed over the intercom: "James Wilson and spouse, 10am appointment, coming."

* * *

"House, I don't want to wait too long."

"Are you in pain? We can raise the morphine limit, you know. You're nowhere near maxing out."

"I know. I'm an _oncologist_ , remember? And I don't want to go on until I need to max out on morphine. I want to go while I'm still able to enjoy life. I want to die less than 24 hours after having sex with you."

"I didn't know I was so good."

"One gets used to anything with time. Anyway, we need to make plans."

"The cocktail is ready whenever you want it, of course. It has been since your first recurrence. I think we should at least wait until everybody has had a chance to say goodbye."

"A few days won't matter, I think I might even want to see my parents, my brother and his family" (after a short pause) "Briefly."

"Should I also contact my mother and your ex-spouses?"

"Blythe is fine, but I'll skip the exes. Would you want to see Stacy in such a situation?"

"As you may recall I already did, with less than optimal results."

"I actually think we can wait two weeks. We can fix the precise date when we see how fast my health deteriorates."

"Ok. I'm as ready for this as I will ever be."

* * *

The door closed softly behind Wilson's parents, and House returned to the sofa, and sat down near Wilson and his IV pole.

"That should be more or less it with the leave-taking. And the support group seems to be working well."

"They all promised me to keep track of you afterwards, and make sure you eat and drink properly, and don't OD on anything. It's comforting to know I'm not leaving you alone. On the other hand, one of my many regrets about dying is that I won't have the pleasure to see you sitting shiva with my mother and Cuddy."

"I actually don't plan to."

"Well, I can't blame you. You may want to check into a hotel, though, since there will be no way to keep either of them out of here."

"I'm coming with you."

"What? Are you crazy? You're not even sixty yet! You have decades in front of you! You can find someone else - maybe a woman for a change? Chase told me there's a young rheumatology nurse who can't keep her eyes off you in the cafeteria."

"Chase shouldn't spread silly rumors: I would have noticed if someone were checking me out. Also, she has thick ankles and believes in horoscopes. Anyway, there are things I know and Chase doesn't. Collect whatever chemo has left of your brain and look at this file, while I put the glasses in the dishwasher."

"Is this supposed to be your file, despite it's in the name of a Graham Home?"

"I didn't want to advertise. You may recall doing something similar not too long ago."

"Your liver is almost gone, and you'll need a transplant soon! Are you already on the waiting list?"

"I should really sue, that chemo was way too neurotoxic. Look better in the bottom lower quadrant."

"Liver cancer. Oh my G-d, House."

"Check the file. Carefully."

"Are these... metastases?"

"Apparently you do have some neurons left. I'm dying as much as you are, only not quite so fast. Can I now pretty please come with you?"

"Well, with proper management you would have very likely one year, maybe more."

"Really something to look forward to, right? I'll put your ashes on a shelf in the bedroom for when I'm too sick to go to the cemetery. I might even use the urn to puke in, in case of need."

"House... you can't die now. It's too early."

"Says who? What pleasures am I looking forward to in the next 12 months, apart of course from sitting shiva with your family and Cuddy? How come you get to skip a month but I don't get to skip a year?"

"I... I need time to think about this."

"Think then." House took Wilson's face among both his hands, and looked him straight in the eyes. "James, I want the same you want. To die happy. To die in your arms."

"Let's talk about it tomorrow, I'm tired."

* * *

"House, I still think it's crazy, but if you're dying anyway soon I can see your point. On the other hand, are you indeed dying anytime soon? How can I be sure that these are really _your_ data?"

"I wasn't so suspicious with you last time."

"Don't be an idiot, House. I want proof. The timing of this is so strangely convenient."

"I don't want to be officially tested. She wouldn't leave us alone afterwards, like, ever. And you're too sick to come to the hospital and run the tests yourself."

Wilson easily understood who "she" was supposed to be.

"Ok, I'll be satisfied with one trustworthy witness, repeating the tests with you."

"Fine. Your pick: Chase? Taub? Foreman? Thirteen?"

"I don't trust any of them. We need someone who won't lie for you."

"How about M3?"

"The med student who replaced Thirteen while she was on leave? Is she back at PPTH?"

"No, she's not. But she's now an MD at UPenn, and I can call her. You know how she is - she would keep a secret once she's promised to do so and she would never lie."

"Ok. M3 it is. Luckily we still have a few days left. Let's make the most of them."

* * *

A/N We're almost done: just one more (short) chapter. It is actualy already finished, except that every time I read it I find more mistakes. All reviews appreciated. 


	7. The Longest Journey Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N** I've partially rewritten this to include dialogue, as per KNITTYWOMAN's reviews suggestion. Dialogues scare me.

  
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**A/N** I've partially rewritten this to include dialogue, as per KNITTYWOMAN's reviews suggestion. Dialogues scare me.

* * *

"Sex while in hospice care is tricky."

"Well, at least it's _home_ hospice care. Imagine doing this in a six-bed room."

"Maybe for voyeurs it would be a turn-on. Are you sure this way we won't knock down the IV pole? That was no fun last week."

"The IV pole will be fine. What I'm worried about is the oxygen supply."

"We could put the oxygen bottle on the bed with us, turned this way."

"And where do I fit in? You can't decide to get a 6'2" husband and then squeeze the two of us _and_ an oxygen bottle in a twin-sized, hospital style bed."

"For that matter your bad leg isn't helping at all with the positioning issue."

"So sue me. The leg is there to stay. I think this way will work."

"Ok. Now I just hope that you didn't screw up the opiate dosis. You remember when you left it too high three weeks ago? Everything limp like a wet rag."

"Well, it's experimental science. That was just a test. I can't go too low or your pain will be so intense that you'll loose interest. I'm sure you remember that already happened."

"Twice, actually. And speaking of remembering, did you buy new lube? It was almost finished last time."

"Yes I did. Bought and placed. And now shut up, we've got business to do."

"Make me."

"That's precisely what I'm planning to do. Wanna see?"

"House... mmmmmph..."

* * *

"That was great."

"Sex with you while a sick cancer patient beats sex with any of my ex-wives. Maybe even with the three of them together."

"I think the endorphins released have fixed both our pain problems for a while. At least I feel really great."

"Me too. In retrospect, I feel sorry for all my past patients lying alone in their hospital rooms, where the most action they got was holding hands. Maybe I should fire up that old blog of mine and publish a long, detailed, lewd post with title _Sex as pain management technique for the terminally ill_."

"Sure, and while you're at it you could add a link to our video. We just have to upload it to YouPorn."

"I think it's enough to have it in the usual DontLookHere folder on my laptop, together with all the others."

"It's already there. The folder also still contains all the videos you made with Amber, by the way."

"If I weren't so tired I might want to watch some of them again. I haven't done so for a really long time."

"I'm tired too. Let me put everything in order for the night, replace your catheter, up your morphine, change your IV, and go to bed myself."

"Check the oxygen level, too. Goodnight, House."

"Goodnight, Wilson."

* * *

"What's this smell? Is it my mother's famous Macadamia Nut Pancakes recipe?"

"Yes it is. I've already eaten one!"

"Where are your manners? How come you haven't offered it to me?"

"You have eaten nothing in the last three days, Wilson. Your digestive system is toast."

"Well, at least I can lick the syrup. Out of your fingers. Or elsewhere."

"Fingers will have to be enough. Well, on second thoughts, maybe fingers _and_ lips."

"Mmmmh. Taste so good."

"Don't go all romantic on me. You may sit lazily in that bed, but I have work to do for both of us today."

"I know House. I'll be waiting."

"I'll join you later. Then we can hold hands really long."

* * *

Chase followed the usual routine of every evening: he let himself in noiselessly in case one or both were asleep, switched on the light and put the groceries in the kitchen. As was often the case, House had left a short note on the living room table to list current needs. He picked it up and read it without taking a seat first. He ended up sitting on the floor and crying. He didn't dare opening the bedroom door until everybody else arrived.

 _Dear Support Team,  
_

 _the bodies are in the bedroom, and the funeral instructions on the bedside table.  
Thank you all very much for your help._

 _James Wilson and Gregory House_

* * *

The funeral service was very short, with brief speeches by friends and no clergy at all. From the loudspeakers came a registration of House, playing whatever he felt like on the instrument Wilson had bought for him when they moved to the condo together. The large casket had both bodies in it: they were dressed in their wedding suits, Wilson's remaining hair had been freshly styled, and House's cane was at his side. They were lying in each other's arms, in the position in which they had been found. They looked like they were sleeping together. "They look so happy" thought Cuddy, her makeup melted away.

The ashes were dispersed at sunset from what used to be their joint balcony at PPTH.

Cuddy got the lease of the condo. The bulk of the money went into the House Wilson Ward for Pediatric Oncology. Thirteen got Wilson's laptop.

* * *

[ _Ten years later_ ]

"Dr Masters, how does someone so young become Head of the most prestigious Diagnostics Department in North America?"

"I was lucky enough to learn from the best."

She turned her eyes along the walls of her beautiful new office, and looked among the many diplomas to a frame containing a plain sheet of paper with a few handwritten lines, slightly yellow with the years.

 _Dear M3,_

 _as you may recall I predicted that a day would come when you would lie to save a patient's life. I'm glad you decided instead to lie to help a friend die happy.  
I'm confident you will be a great doctor, and hope you'll appreciate a small keepsake of mine.  
_

 _Yours,_

 _Gregory House, MD_

She started absent-mindedly playing with the ball.

* * *

A/N That's it I'm done! I feel like Charles Dickens _and_ Wilkie Collins wrapped into one :-). All kinds of reviews heartily welcome.

PS In my opinion, this _is_ a happy ending.


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